Paperwork

by Merry Amelie

Title: Paperwork
Author: Merry Amelie
Archive: MA only
Category: Alternate Reality, Qui/Obi, Romance, Series, PWP
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Quinn saves Ian from an avalanche of paper.

I'm posting Arcadia and Q/O drabbles to TPM 100.

Series: Academic Arcadia -- # 149
A chronological list of the series with the URLs can be found under the header 'Academic Arcadia' at the Master Apprentice ML.

My MA story page is here.

Feedback: Is treasured at MerryAmelie@aol.com.
Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.

For
My beta team: Nerowill, Emila-Wan, and Carol
Mali Wane for posting
My former betas: Alex, Ula, and Padawan Sue

For Sue, who dazzled me with her April 2008 manip of Quinn and Ian, which she titled Paperwork. (Warning: Link contains nudity.) This is the story she inspired, with my love and thanks. Please click on the picture to enlarge it.

Stacks of paper teetered on Ian's desk at home, ready to cascade down with a breath.

He didn't even notice.

The desk groaned under the weight of essays; he groaned under the weight of lust. And the magnificent man lying in front of him, at home between his legs, was the reason for his absorption.

Quinn had come in to coax him to bed after a long night of marking the first papers of the semester. He'd succeeded, but not, perhaps, in the way he'd intended. They'd ended up in bed right there, unable to make it to the master bedroom. A heady combination of exhaustion and passion drove them to the nearest bed.

Quinn's lips were on his cock, and paperwork simply did not exist anymore. It was something that could not touch him, sitting here with Quinn hungry for the taste of him. The wet warmth of Quinn's mouth felt wonderful on his sweaty skin, most of the perspiration sucked off by now.

Ian dimly felt the bars of sunlight on his chest, their heat not nearly as potent as Quinn's. He hadn't connected them to the light of dawn, streaming through the blinds. He was no good at making connections to anything right now. All he could think of was love, the joy his husband made him feel with each caress.

Quinn's chestnut hair rustled into his stomach, making Ian shiver with delight. Quinn pressed into Ian's sensitive left rib with his forehead, lingering there until Ian gasped. His cheek brushed the edge of the ginger curls at Ian's groin in a welcome tickle. The column of Quinn's forearm dug into Ian's inner thigh hard, anchoring them both in the Moment.

Ian was beaming in the sunbeams, though unaware of his beatific expression, unaware of anything but Quinn giving him everything. He didn't notice the burn of straining leg muscles, nor the ache of crossed arms behind his head, although his tendons were as tight as the rubber bands around his papers.

His focus was totally on pleasure, a prism refracting light, as if the sunbeams originated within himself.

Ian could feel Quinn's pleasure in suckling him, magnified by his own in receiving those suckles. Slow sucks, soft licks, tender dabs of wet tongue -- keeping him hard without the burning desire to come. Leave it to Quinn to know just what he needed.

Ian could stay here all day, thighs strengthened by gymnastics allowing him to hold this position indefinitely. He knew Quinn was comfortable, lying at his ease, spread out over the comforter as if he'd been poured on top of it. Easy to tell by the relaxed glide of his husband's mouth as he played with him, as well.

He barely heard Quinn's growl after his first thrust into that amazing mouth. Oh, the way Quinn yielded around him. He was surrounded by cushiony heat, while submerged in deep water. The perfect haven, which only Quinn could give him. He needed to thrust a second time, craving it again.

He lost count after that.

Ian tried to keep his thrusts shallow, considerate even in his passion. He knew from suckling Quinn that even the most substantial cock could be a pleasure to take, if done right. Amazing how his husband's lessons helped him even in this.

He gave a shout as Quinn's tongue slathered over more of him than Ian thought possible, and his hands petted his testicles with just the right firmness. How could Quinn always tell exactly where he needed him to be?

He started to pant when Quinn sucked his cheeks in -- trust Quinn to know when to increase Ian's pleasure. Ian grunted and sped up his thrusts, desperate for more sensation. Quinn did a little squiggle with his tongue, and Ian squiggled, too.

That was it as Ian finally came into Quinn's patient mouth, vaguely aware of big hands grabbing his hips to prevent him from falling backwards under the impact of orgasm.

Ian's chest worked like a bellows as he gulped in air. Those wonderful hands pulled him down until he was lying flat on the bed, and there he stayed for the next little while, grinning when Quinn lay down on his side next to him. His grin became positively wolfish when he reached over to rub a stray drop on Quinn's chin with a fingertip, then licked it off.

Quinn's eyes gleamed a most gratifying shade of blue.

"Wow, what a way to get my mind off grading," Ian breathed.

"'Tisn't easy, but I'm just the man for the job." Quinn's soft chuckle tickled Ian's cheek.

When Quinn stretched, Ian was not surprised to feel a very hard, very wet cock jam into his leg. Ian deliberately pushed back with his thigh, eyes glinting mischievously at Quinn's groan. "Whaddya wanna do about this, big guy?"

Quinn took a shaky breath. "Not gonna last. Anythin', laddie."

Ian grinned in anticipation. He knew a call to action when he heard one. Getting on his elbow, he reached over to curl his fingers around the head of Quinn's cock, one of his husband's favorite touches. Ian fluttered his fingertips softly over the hard flesh straining into his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, just like that, lad!" Quinn's desperation deepened Ian's grin.

Ian rewarded him with more of the petting he craved. By now, there was more pre-come on Quinn's cock than the amount of lube they usually used. Ian spread it up the shaft, turning it into a caress. The heat coming off Quinn was more intense than the sun-rays hitting Ian's back through the blinds.

Hand and cock moved together as naturally as mouth and cock had earlier. Squeezing, stroking, sliding -- Ian loved it all and, more importantly, so did Quinn. He smiled when the shaft pushed back against his fingertips as it grew impossibly larger. A slick twist of his fingers had Quinn yelling and spurting all over Ian's hand and forearm.

Ian's touches changed to soothing now, his whispers as soft as his pats. Quinn looked up at him with such adoration that his breath caught in wonder. "Love you so much," Ian said huskily.

"Love you, too," Quinn's voice deepened to a basso profundo from his usual rumble.

Tangled in a happy heap with Quinn, Ian felt as remote as Rip Van Winkle from the piles of essays on Washington Irving cluttering his desk.

When Quinn handed him the tissues, there was no stopping Ian's groaner, "No job is finished until the paperwork is done."